Computing

Out of touch remainsthis ground from the earth --its color baked brownand texture, a bit crumbled.

I can walk on grasswithout hindrancebetween my naked heeland the moisture,but I cannot be an earthwormdigging soil – exploring depthsin burrows of hunger.

If only clouds would measurethirst of this earthbefore they condenseor begin to disperseI could learn to ignorea flood or famine -- all akin to natureand spread my palms, alwaysto collect as many dropsit givesin its kind gesture.